


Lightning Rod

by Ooze



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Gen, V is Not Part of Vergil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-25 19:54:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21980980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ooze/pseuds/Ooze
Summary: A demon will come to learn that some humans are worth their trouble, even if they are helpless and demanding and too young to know any better.
Relationships: Griffon & V (Devil May Cry)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 39





	1. Conjured

**Author's Note:**

> This is written from Griffon's point of view; we aren't meant to fully understand V's thoughts and feelings. For reference, V is sixteen years old. ~~This was only meant to have a single chapter.~~

Hell itself would not dare to match the fire and brimstone spewed from his mouth. With a sharp eye, sharpened wit and talons to complement, he was a diabolical thing armed to the nines. Capable of decimating _any_ with a word as with a bolt of lightning; it was all the same to him and he was cocky about it. That was how he'd lived day in and day out and the underworld had no love for him. It was just as well that he was plucked from it without will or warrant—he wouldn't miss it. But the _nerve_ to move him without his consent! It was unjust! Never before had he experienced such a thing, and he wished he hadn't in the seconds that pulled him across realms to finally settle him atop an inverted pentagram, surrounded by the flames of candles that danced wildly in greeting. All at once there was darkness and points of light before his vision, and in his alarm he darted all about the confining space out of raw panic to seize control over the circumstances. Heavily his wings beat, forceful were the gusts produced and genuine were his shrieks of surprise. All at once the world had changed and home was far and away—and he'd been _here_ before in a distant time, though not in this room and not in the company of child sporting a head of the whitest white.

A wild animal caged, subdued without even knowing it at the hands of... _a child!_

A child with _white hair_!

He'd seen him when he arrived; yes, he remembered—panic fogged the mind, but memory was fresh and vivid and he'd stopped scrambling to find a perch atop the wardrobe from which he could spy the boy, gather a good look at him for the first time (and his bearings in the process). From above he peered down, wary at first before he'd realized the reality of things: the boy was a human, he was alone, and he'd looked twice as alarmed, almost _frightened_.

_You've got to be kidding me._

“Hey, you're just a little pipsqueak, aren't you?” The demon's voice, edging on disdainful, emerged dauntlessly and, as if a finger, pointed accusingly at the runt beneath him. The sight was pathetic: the child had backed up in retreat of the beast and stared wide-eyed at him, donning a pallor that even the demon could see in the dark. And should he dare to think that _this_ little creature was responsible for his change of environment? A demon's pride would not suffer that.

Narrowing his eyes, he craned his neck to intimidate the boy. “Demons are bad news, kid. Didn't your parents ever tell you?”

Wordless boy, gawking up at the demon he'd invited into his space. Did the fiend's mastery over language flabbergast him? “Cat got your tongue or what?” wondered the demon with impatience. He wasn't sure what to make of him—but his silence was deafening and something about him gave the demon some small pause. It was the white hair that did it, chiefly, among more, and he could _sense_ it in the air. Not only the remnants of magic used, but an element buried deep within that child that the avian demon could not mistake. His head canted as he mused, eyes fixed on the boy who'd taken the momentary inactivity to step forward and make his own voice heard.

“Y–you can _talk_.”

What a meek little thing! It would have been hilarious if it'd not first been insulting. To imagine that he conjured a demon all on his lonesome? _U_ _nacceptable_.

“For a minute there I thought _you_ couldn't,” ragged the fiend. “Anyway, it's been wild, but I've got places to be, so make with the hocus pocus and send me back.”

“I can't.”

“What comes in goes out, kid. I don't know how you learned to do it, but you can, so we're not gonna argue that.” A glimmer in golden eyes—he was being smart, cunning, derisive, and he wanted only to cut to the chase. “You send me back now and I'll forget this ever happened. Deal?” If he could have done it himself, he would have. But he was knowledgeable of the sorts of rites that conjured the likes of him and of their conditions, and he'd confidently assumed the little sorcerer had closed the opening between realms and cut off the avian demon's every means of returning to his land. Irritatingly, he _had_ to depend on the boy for his freedom.

“I don't know how. Even if I did, I wouldn't let you go,” the boy countered resolutely.

“Wrong answer!” Electricity crackled all about the raptor's frame, illuminating his lustrous, intensely hued plumage, and with it he threatened, “Someone in here's gonna be toast if he doesn't smarten up!”

That appeared to do the trick. The boy shrank a little, quieting down beneath the demon's anger. He would not be given an inch for his arrogance. Foolishly, though, he refused to back down; he tried so hard to look strong, dauntless, but there was no mistaking his inexperience and the uncertainty that resulted. He hadn't known exactly how to proceed, and that was all the beast needed to turn things around in his favor.

“Now,” he started again, “the _right_ answer, kid. We're not playing your game by a long shot.” How chilling the scene must have been to the child, his room enveloped by darkness save for what few candles remained lit and the electricity that infrequently popped about the demon looming above him as if an omen of evil. The beast was ready to lunge if he had to, and in his mind there was little that would stop him from punishing the human. Of course, he'd felt adequately comfortable where he'd waited, well out of reach should the boy grow a wild hair and retaliate. Such a mousy one as he, however, would not even think to go that far. And, yet, for all of his humanity, he was the most distinctive one of the lot the demon had ever come across. He did not quite enjoy this feeling, this supposed perception of a thing he could only have guessed to name in regard to the child staring into his many irises.

“I'm...not playing,” the little one came to say, “I need your help.” Still trying to find his courage; perhaps it should have been admirable that he could speak his mind and stand his ground, all things considered.

It was surely enough to rob the demon of any retort he may have planned on delivering. He fell quiet as he processed the surprise he'd been dealt, but not for embarrassingly long before he'd, plainly, uttered, “Come again?”

There was some small delay— _uncertainty_ —before the boy spoke. “I need a demon. Please?”

_Please?! Is he fucking nuts?_ The demon could not avoid the laughter that poured from his triple-hinged beak, and while it was short-lived it still must have _bruised_ his audience. “Oh, come _on_. You expect me to buy that? You expect to _get away_ with a feeble request like that? Hate to break it to you, but that's not gonna persuade _anybody_. Not a demon or another one of your kind. That's life.” He could tell the boy had soured. “What the hell could you possibly want with a demon anyway? We don't make good pets, trust me.” He hadn't taken the boy seriously in the slightest. He would have lied if he'd said his curiosity wasn't thoroughly arrested, but he had no plans on staying just to humor childish beliefs.

“I don't need a pet, I need a _familiar_. I need a demon, I need help, and you're the one that got here.”

“You shut your trap!” the fiend ordered through what sounded like frustration. Suddenly, the situation had taken a turn—or, in fact, this had been the case from the _start,_ only he had not taken notice until it was spelled out for him. How could such a meek little thing have sought this? The demon may have been naive, underestimating humanity's desires and their relentless will to acquire whatever in the world they wanted. Maybe it started from a young age. How was he to know? He'd only ever been to the Earth once before, and not for the purpose of interacting with its primary inhabitants. This was all very new to him, and he hadn't a taste for it. His eyes were hard and pointed, glaring the child down into a semblance of submission. He looked startled, green eyes wide and brows furrowed, and he almost looked as if he wanted to retreat behind the fringe of white hugging his cheek.

“No- _fucking_ -body needs a demon, especially not some mousy little twerp!” Cacophonous was the beast's voice, unnerving like steel scratching glass, and his rage was only too clear as he'd lost all control of himself. “I'm nobody's tool!” shouted he, lunging for the arrogant little fool. Electricity crackled and popped all across his body as he swooped low, and he dismissed the cry in fearful protest uttered by his prey. When contact should have followed, however, he stopped inches in front of him. No desire of his own, and yet in spite of his roaring instinct he could not touch the child. “What the hell?!” Not immobilized—he hovered where he'd stopped and searched for answers—but still unable to make a move _against_ his intended target, who'd stared on in alarm, apprehension and subtle relief.

“What gives?!” the demon demanded, but he'd already had a guess.

“A protective spell... I'm not an idiot,” the child answered, his guard up, with some cunning on display as he'd decided to defend himself at last.

_Damn! He's smarter than he looks!_

How embarrassing for a demon supposedly so proud; privately he acknowledged the child's forethought, realizing he was sorely mistaken for assuming the boy would have let his inexperience dominate his sense of caution. Perhaps he _wasn't_ playing a game after all. Seemingly having gained the upper hand (in reality, in possession of it all along), he silently forced the beast's hand. The raptor had tried to send a jolt through him to test his claim, and it worked in the little _sorcerer's_ favor: the electricity did not touch him. What more evidence could either party wish for? The facts were concrete and so the demon was pushed back by failure alone. _Maddening!_

In the darkness of the enclosed room, the demon settled on a spot opposite the boy right behind the inverted pentagram. To say his feathers had been ruffled would have been a gross understatement. Wholly displeased, he watched the boy just as _he'd_ been watched, not one of them making a move forward or backward—just as if they'd reached an impasse. Going this long without a response clued the child in to what went reeling inside the demon's mind, and the latter of the two was acutely aware that had been the case. This prompted the youth to speak first.

“I wouldn't be unprepared,” his voice came mildly.

“Bet you're feeling pretty smug right about now,” acknowledged the infernal bird, utterly reluctant and sour.

“I don't care… I only know that I need you.” He spoke quietly and candidly.

The demon now knew that he'd been restrained on all fronts, incapable of fighting back in his usual manner. Diplomacy might have worked, some negotiation, but he was not as tactful as those options would demand. He was at a loss and could now only _hope_ that such spells placed over him would wear out before long. Arguing would not help anything, he learned, and decided that he may as well do nothing at all. He eyed the boy quizzically, so far unaware of what he'd intended and why. “What the hell gives you that idea, anyway?”

“I need help from you because...no one else can give it to me. I think tonight is my only opportunity, and...I don't have a lot of time to do this.” He stared into the demon's eyes, a soft pleading look painted upon his features and most notably over his brow.

“Fine,” the demon snapped dismissively, “but _why_? No one in their right mind would want that. So either you're _out_ of your mind or you're an idiot after all.”

The boy was quiet, pensive for a moment though it was clear he'd become frustrated by the demon's contrary attitude. The fact that he hadn't an answer to give right when he'd been prompted said something about his _uncertainty_. Strangely, he sat down on his side of the floor as if he'd wanted to get comfortable. He crossed his legs, barefoot, and continued watching the feathered demon in his room. So tough a nut to crack, and by now the boy had already been deemed a little bit _nutty_. The demon pressed him unkindly, the faintest touch unsettled as far as the child's potential was concerned. The youth's voice returned, following an exhale, tamed by his thoughtfulness. “I won't be able to survive on my own. I can take care of myself, but not when it comes to _everything_. Like I'd said, there isn't anyone I know that can help me. I...had to resort to this, to conjure it for myself.”

“Uh… _Huh_?” the beast begged. “What, so you're on your own here? You're not messing with demons behind your parents' backs?”

The boy shook his head to respond without word.

“You lost me again.”

“I live with a witch. She's not...my mother. I've never known my father.” He sounded meek as if he'd suddenly lost heart. A somber veil cast its shadow over his face, and even in the darkness of the room the demon had taken notice. As far as the latter could tell, he wasn't putting on appearances but acted genuinely and spoke with an identical quality.

The story was punctured with holes, but some things had just begun to make sense and a handful of inferences could thus form. The child had no parents, then, and lived with a woman of questionable character (as far as the demon could surmise). It might have been an unhappy living, then, but he doubted that warranted the need for a demon's intervention of all things, so he offered his judgment: “I think you're exaggerating, kid.”

“It's the truth!”

“Hey, don't get all defensive with me. You got a problem with whomever you're living under but that doesn't have _shit_ to do with me. Grow up big and strong, climb out the window and never look back. Easy as pie.”

“It's not about that,” the boy countered, his tone affected by a measure of exasperation. “I can't protect myself. Not...from her. After tonight, she will be cross with me. I have the feeling, and I will need someone beside me. But it's not only about her. I need more than that.” He really may have been as weak as he'd first been thought to be. Already he'd begun depending upon someone other than himself, believing he could not fend off dangers and fight for survival on his own. Given his fear, the way he would occasionally shrink into himself, the demon did believe that the boy was about as useless as he'd described himself to be, that he hadn't a clue what to do and he was missing a guiding hand to hold.

Was he searching for a _babysitter_?

“Look, kid, if you're wanting someone to take care of—“

“I need help killing a demon.”


	2. Tamed

“What? _What_? Are you mental?!” Feathers splayed from the sheer alarm of it. Eyes widened and stared at an opposing pair somehow controlled and at ease as they stared back, and they'd reflected a quality of resolve that had clearly welled up within the boy. The demon failed to peg him: what _was_ his matter? Plain stupidity? That somehow seemed unlikely; the demon noted he was a rather bright human, all things considered—but this apparent obsession with magic and demons tapped into a reservoir of interest that was deeper than anticipated. The fiend had already assumed poorly of his mental state.

“I can't do it by myself. I know I'll have a better chance of killing the demon if I have another do it for me.” A logical argument made with a sudden glower come over his brow. “So...I'd need you for a few things.”

“That's a tall order, kid. Can't you leave well enough alone and focus on other shit? Like, I dunno, trading cards or something.”

“It's important. I have to do this—and I _have_ to have a familiar.”

What an unusual set of circumstances. Rather troubling ones, too. The boy was adamant; determination burned in him like a hungry fire and it was noticeable in bright green dimmed only by the darkness of their surroundings. He belonged to the sort that would _not_ simply “let go,” and such a fact became clear to the demon even before he'd learned of the child's motives. It left him largely speechless as he stood before his conjurer, contemplative as he'd searched his mind for something that would help him avoid the entanglement that awaited him. As if at another stalemate, the two endured in quiet for a short spell with eyes full on one another. The silence inevitably broke before long.

Composed, feathers flat and body back, the demon observed, “You're not like your other humans, I'll tell you that.”

A shrug from the boy.

“Any good reason why you got murder on your mind?” Reluctantly the question followed, and for it came an absolute refusal to answer. More silence, tense and...suddenly difficult to bear. The demon was respectful in his patience and waited a mite anxiously for something, but he could see unfavorable twitches in the boy's facial muscles and how he'd grimaced shyly as if meaning to keep it discreet; but his gaze did not turn away. He'd assumed the boy hadn't a reason, which may well prove the worst in contrast to having one as it would point toward wild impulsiveness. That, however, would not have made much difference in persuading he who was already reluctant to agree. “You _have_ got a reason, right?” cautiously he wondered, believing he was on to something. “Don't tell me it's what all the cool kids are doing these days.”

Steadily, a shake of a head of white followed in response. “No.” Again his voice came meekly as if he'd forgotten his courage. “The demon shouldn't be here, but it's here...because of me. I let it in. What I did with you, but...I made a mistake and now it's out there.”

“I guess you _are_ an idiot,” came the rebuke. “You're summoning demons left and right and then calling on more to clean up your messes! Actually, that's not idiotic: that's _insane,_ irresponsible, however you wanna put it. You think you're playing games with us?”

“I've only done it once before!” the child defended earnestly. “That's why I'm trying to make things right now! If I could do it myself, I would, I swear it. But I just _can't_. I so badly need help—demon or human, it doesn't matter, but I need it.”

Those were _pleas_ , genuine, _desperate_ pleas for the thing he'd evidently sought to no end. Remorse had driven him all this way, then, and now he wanted to atone for the mistake he'd made. At least he'd shown some sense of responsibility, and it was oh-so such a human thing to feel. It rather struck the demon, impressed him when he'd seen how intensely such a frail little thing had felt in reality and this little eruption offered a small glimpse into that obscure head of his. The demon had to wonder, however, why the child conjured one of his fellow infernals in the very first place. What in the world had possessed him to try? To _want_ it? So very reckless of a human that young to do—but, of course, the boy before him was not...whole. The white hair gave it away and it aided in reminding the demon of another with a head of white that he'd heard stories about, someone who seemed not to have a care in the world how they'd dealt with demons, or that they'd _done_ it at all. Such must have been a trait shared among them.

Forgetting to acknowledge the boy's entreaty, the demon went on to inquire, “What is it with the white hair? What about it makes you go after demons like we're such hot shit?”

“My hair…?”

“You hear me loud and clear, kiddo. What's it do to your head? _You're_ not an isolated incident, you know. I've heard about this sort of thing before.”

“What are you talking about?” He appeared to shrink behind the very hair in question.

“You're pulling my leg! Pretending you don't even know!” the demon said boastfully, raising his head as if to claim superiority. “Come on, kid, I can see right through you. You play the human role pretty damn perfectly, but _that_ right there ruins your image.” He threw his eyes at the boy's hair, but in the dimly lit room the boy may well have not noticed the gesture. “That and the whole...'I'm cool with summoning demons like it's nothing' thing. Yeah, what _human_ does that, eh?”

A furrow of brows over a countenance tinted orange through candlelight. “I don't understand you.” Insecure was his tone as he argued, gently. “A lot of humans summon demons and they don't mind. Satanists, devil worshipers, they all do it. _I'm_ not one of those, but—”

“You're a damn weird kid for getting in on the act. Which proves my point: a full human _you_ are not. Let's get it all out in the open, shall we?” The demon's tone was challenging now, and by the sharpness of his words it was discernible that he'd assumed some upper hand in the situation. He was subsequently not in the slightest moved by the boy's ascending eyebrows. “I know what you are, so come clean already.”

“I'm, I'm human!” the child answered earnestly, confounded by the demon's accusation.

“Yeah, yeah, but not one hundred percent. Maybe more like ninety percent. It's subtle, but it's _there_. You're not gonna fool any of my kind, unfortunately for you.”

“Why are you saying that?”

“Because I can feel it, kid! You think I'm stupid?”

The boy hadn't realized he'd become confrontational, leaning over the inverted pentagram on the floor as he'd subconsciously neared the fiend in his company—and it was also the same fiend who craned his neck and thrust his head forward in a slight attempt to buttonhole the little conjurer before him. As if prepared for a tussle, the demon's shoulders had tightened and squared. However, he successfully silenced his opponent who'd quickly shrank backward upon receiving his reply. Apparently, it was not one he'd counted on hearing. Upon seeing his submission, the demon backed off in turn. He observed, “That's more like it,” before allowing another question to probe his intellect. Through a glimmer in golden eyes, he continued: “I've been among humans before, so I can tell the difference. You're definitely giving off something with a little _oomph_. I guess it makes sense you can't feel it yourself.”

“What are you driving at?” the child pressed, anxious. “That I'm...less than human?”

“If you wanna put it that way. Depends on your point of view—but, come on, you knew this all along.”

“I swear to you I didn't.”

“You're screwin' with me,” the demon argued, impatience brewing beneath his plumage. “Something _had_ to tip you off. One of your parents must've told you.”

“I only had my mother and she _never_ told me anything like that.”

Oh, the demon might have pitied him if he cared; the child sounded conflicted, defensive, _on edge_ , and he was persistent in his denial of the facts. He did not seem to enjoy any mention of his family, either, and the demon was rather certain _that_ was where the key lied. Sullen was the boy's face, suddenly impartial toward the conversation. He'd gotten himself into this mess, so he would have to deal with it in spite of his personal discomfort. He may yet bore of the entire thing and let the demon go free.

Inconveniences aside, it was rather shocking that a human of _l_ _imited_ blood had somehow not come to learn of that part of himself until a full-blooded demon had to point it out to him. Unbelievable, but...he'd really not known, had he? His behavior expressed as much and so far the demon knew not what to expect from so singular an adolescent. He could only brace himself for what other surprise may come. Scrutinized by the child whom he in turn watched deliberately, the avian demon found himself in a far more baffling, challenging position than he first thought. What next moves to consider were limited; he could only converse.

The evening was still aside from their activity, and the room he was confined to was only big enough for them. As far as it was perceptible, not another soul resided in the dwelling at present, so the master of the house had been away while little sorcerers dared to play. A sneaky devil in his own right! How much of the truth he'd told the demon was still up for debate, but based on his reactions he appeared...adequately sincere. As the night drew on, the child _should_ begin to tire, but by now the demon had learned that conventions did not _fly_ with his conjurer. If what he'd said before was true, however, then he really hadn't much more time to go—not the boy or his trapped quarry.

“Well,” the demon started after a moment's thought, “your mommy should've been upfront with you, unless she doesn't have a clue either, then _what the heck?_ ” When the boy's face soured doubly, the demon's voice sounded again. “Either way, you're _mostly_ human... And the part that isn't has gotta be—hey, whaddya know, demon too! Give the kid a cigar!” That was more sarcasm than joy, of course. The boy had opened his mouth to protest with the _meanest_ dip of his brow, but he was cut short before he could even take a breath.

“Hey, don't blame me for that. Take it up with _wh_ _o_ _ever_ in your family. I'm laying out the facts as they are, kid, and I'm willing to bet on 'em.” With nonchalance the demon spoke; a likely irritating thing to an adolescent boy _already_ on a nervous roller-coaster. “Brings me back to my point about the hair: it's a dead giveaway. Heard about someone else kinda like you, as a matter of fact.”

It dawned on him then that the witch the boy lived with might have known the same: that he was not as human as he appeared and, given his talents, was potentially of _value_ to her. He was, after all, attempting to get away from her, or to acquire some protection _against_ her. Might he have been on the right track all along? Was his story, then, believable and _factual_? To think seriously for a moment that the boy was in some danger introduced a strange suggestion of responsibility on the part of the demon summoned tonight. From it, his conscience balked; and it reminded him that he had a conscience after all. _A damned pesky thing._

“You're not lying,” the child realized, “are you?”

“Demons are about as truthful as we are deceitful. I'm not the lying kind of asshole, at least. I call it like I see it and you can kiss my ass if you got a problem with that.” He laid out his philosophy in the simplest terms with the simplest candor. “Doesn't your mom have white hair?”

“No...”

“ _Ah_.” No wonder the boy didn't have any more of a clue than his mother. Perhaps it was his father, then, with the mixed genes, and he claimed to never have known him. Sounded reasonable enough. “Gotta come from your pops, then. Maybe that's why you've never seen him: _he split_ 'cause his half-demon ass had to hide...or whatever.” In less than a minute the feathered fiend made assumptions based on too little information and, from it, formed a story of the boy's origins that neither of them had any clear picture of. Yet, it was one that left the child pensive as he'd silently sat with his eyes downcast. He _must_ have been ruminating over what he'd just learned.

Come to think of it, where _was_ his mother?

“Why don't you go home to your mom, anyway?” the demon wondered without reserve. “Or did she kick you out for playing with black magic?”

If it had not been for the way hair shielded his face and his eyes traveling away, the demon might have picked up on the expression of a child sickened. He'd taken a moment before he spoke and after he had, it was with difficulty. He was barely heard. “She died. That's why I'm here.”

Oh. _Oh._ They both fell silent, looking away from one another. The quiet was heavy, thickened by a discomfort shared between the two parties, and it was a swift, aggressive sense of embarrassment that kept sealed the demon's beak. Thankfully, he did not have to break the silence; the boy did it for him, _and_ it seemed as though the lad had dismissed everything talked about to return once more to the purpose of the conjuring rite. He stood, caught the demon's eyes, and balled his fists as he looked down upon the beast with a hardened brow.

“Will you be my familiar?” he asked, now with strength.

There was so much more to him than the demon could observe. Troubled waters, a storm brewing—would it wash him away without _help_?

“That's a point-blank question.”

“Well, answer it.”

“What if I say no?” wondered the beast, challenging mildly; wit combined with a curiosity gleamed in his eyes. “You know you can't _make_ me. That's not how it works.”

The boy's lips did not move; he had no answer, he hadn't known _how_ to. Thus his awareness of the circumstances was made clear. He'd known enough about what he'd gotten himself into to know, consequently, that making demands would be fruitless for him. Thus, defeat wormed into his muscles when his hands relaxed. There was such a hardness to his demeanor now, however, that contrasted how he'd behaved, even sounded, just a minute prior. “But,” carefully he'd said at last, “will you?”

“Be your demon, huh?” the other asked for clarification; he was answered with an affirmative nod of the head. “I dunno, you don't look like you're ready for that kind of responsibility.” That was a tease and he'd delivered it through a note of sarcasm. It visibly frustrated the child—and upon his countenance he wore a look of equal hopelessness. Ah, _poor thing_ , subjecting himself to this as if he had no choice. His options were right in front of him and he could have ended this now, but he didn't. The demon knew he _wouldn't_ without a fight. Persistence alone suggested a kind of gravity that the demon did not care to humor, but it was obvious the boy's sentiments were vehement.

He was, perhaps, at an end where the demon before him was concerned; his final chance, his last hope defiant and jeering. The fiend did not imagine what that may have felt like for a boy of a still tender age, but for a fleeting second he felt some semblance of pity. No longer was he wary of the little sorcerer as he'd come to realize the extent of his prowess. The boy was certainly capable if he'd only hone his skills, but he was starting out. A fledgling in the area of magic craft.

With an air of confidence (not exactly exaggerated) the conjured entity watched the helpless boy, smart in the eyes as he went over his thoughts. His voice broke through when he arrived at a decision. “Let's recap: you're an orphan, a witch is after your ass and you got a demon to kill, so you're looking for a hand to help you take care of all _three_ of those things.” The gist was understood and the boy offered no argument. “I got a deal for you, then. A real once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

Oh, that _really_ grabbed the child's attention! His eyes widened marginally and rather than frown, now he knitted his brows in confused interest. “What kind of deal?” he asked with a reasonable touch of skepticism.

“I can't be any kind of parent, and I _won't_ be, but I can help you get out of here _and_ carry out your assassination, and in return you send me back to the underworld. We _both_ get what we want.” It was a risk without question for he would bind himself to terms he did not understand the full extent of—what sort of a demon would he have to face off against?—nor would he have any certainty of the boy's commitment to upholding his end of the bargain. He may well shackle the demon to his side once his goals are achieved! And, yet, the demon offered his services regardless. Little more was left to him, however: what other chance did he have of getting that human off his back and returning home? Thus, a _compromise_ was his best bet. It would have to be—and if he'd learned anything at all about the boy, it would be that the latter would prefer to take _something_ over nothing, and doubly so in his current conditions.

It was a _brilliant_ plan.

The boy did not take more than a handful of seconds to respond through a flush of decisiveness. “Fine, yes. I accept.” He didn't sound satisfied, but he _did_ sound anxious. _Desperate_. As the demon predicted, the child would take even a pittance over none at all. “Then we should proceed with the rite.”

“Whoa, slow it down, kid. You think I'm just gonna let you drag me right into your clutches so you can keep me indefinitely? Not a chance, we're not doing any rite.”

“You said yourself that demons are deceitful. What guarantee do I have that you're not going to get away from me the first chance you get? You could be lying about everything.”

 _Ah, rats._ “You really are smarter than you look,” the demon commended reluctantly, “but, listen, I've been honest so far, right? I wouldn't bail out as soon as it's convenient… Some of us have integrity.” He only tried to be persuasive now, but the insincerity to his voice did not go unnoticed.

“One way or the other you'll be set free,” the boy argued, “but _I'm_ the one who may come up with nothing if you leave before you have to.”

Such a good point, and there was always the potential for egregious selfishness from demons no matter the prevailing circumstances. The feathered beast currently in negotiations was well aware, therefore he would _have_ to swallow any distaste in order to satisfy the child and inspire a cause for _trust_. It would make his departure so much easier. So, the demon finally acquiesced—complainingly all the while. “All right, all right, I'll go for it. But listen: you so much as _try_ anything underhanded and I'll show you what hellish torment is like for the rest of your short, miserable life. You mark me?”

“My word might not be worth much to you, but you have it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> V's "pops" is in fact a full human. Silly Griffon.


	3. Bound

Deal struck, fates in the short term sealed. The demon _would_ follow through with his proposal as long as the child acted in kind. So it appeared that he would become someone's familiar after all. Well, that may not be the worst thing to happen so long as he could get out of it, and he would make _damned_ sure the boy would break their bindings when the time came. “Let's get on it with, then. You know how to undo the, uh, binding thing, right?”

“In theory,” was the lad's reply, “since I've never done it before. But I'm sure I could manage it.”

“Yeah, well, I'm gonna make _doubly_ sure of that. I know more about these kinda rites than you might think.”

Nothing was replied. The boy clad in plain dark clothing turned to grab a book from the floor and thumbed through its pages, stopping at the one he'd searched for and appearing to read it in the dimmest light. He moved again to fetch a matchbox, probably intending to light the candles that had gone out, and as he went the demon watched the flames come to life. His mind was not vacant, however, as he'd mused over the rite in question and judged privately whether or not his conjurer was as learned in so delicate an art as he'd claimed to be. It was then that the boy chose to make heard his voice and he stared into golden irises for it, but not before he blew out his match. “I have a question to ask.”

Now that the room had been more adequately lit, the demon could study the human's appearance with better clarity. Nothing new to note, nothing quite remarkable about him apart from his hair. All of his impressive qualities resided within, and occasionally they were seen through the eyes. Whatever curiosity he wanted satisfied was, perhaps, one deserved. The boy was thus encouraged to speak his mind.

“Earlier, you said that you heard about someone...like me?” it was cautiously asked, and he'd sat back down on his previous spot.

“Hm… Oh, yeah. Word is some white-haired guy goes around killing demons left and right,” the raptor answered, “and he's even gone to the underworld to do it. I've even heard he went after Mundus himself—you know about him, right? Former emperor of the underworld? Yeah, him,” he continued, dismissing whether or not the child had any knowledge, “he and whatshisname went _mano a mano_ if you can believe that.”

“I don't see how that makes us alike.”

“Oh, what, _really_? And you're not even the least bit impressed?” The boy astounded the demon. Of course, even he was not certain of the facts. It was all hearsay for him, and he'd treated the accounts as little more than legends. Still, there had to have been some truth to them. Whatever murderous rampage the aforementioned man had gone on was one that touched even _this_ demon's life. When the boy expressed his uncertainty, the demon went on to speak following a sigh. “I know I knew his name before... Uh, something _cool-_ sounding, like…Drake? Da— Oh, _Dante_! That's it, his name's Dante. It was on the tip of my tongues. They say the guy's half demon, and I wouldn't doubt it if he's capable of killing some of the underworld's _baddest_. Even wiped out the head honcho of my kind, so I've heard. I don't how much of that's true, but King Griffon bit the goddamned dust in a really ugly way.”

“So...he killed your leader? That must have been awful.”

“Well, he _and_ Mundus both. They say Mundus was the one to put Griffon out of his misery after Dante beat the hell out of him. Honestly, he had it coming; he was a major prick and an ass-kisser like you'd never seen,” the demon explained further. “He had his head up Mundus' ass _and_ his own, he thought he was such hot shit. He ruled the roost for centuries back in the underworld and we all agreed we hated the bastard. But he was fucking massive while the rest of us were about this size...so we really couldn't do a thing about him. Guess we just had to leave it to Mundus and the half-breed to do our dirty work for us. Ha!” There was a demonic air to him and an equally dark glimmer in the eyes when he laughed. He'd never plotted assassination, no, but found that the fate of _King_ Griffon (a title so implied by the emperor himself and adopted by the avian demon's own flock explicitly for scorn) was fortuitous in the extreme. Something to make light of.

“Oh,” the boy observed softly. “Did anyone take his place?”

“Nah, not since he was killed. You could say we're _winging it_ now. You should see the infighting going on. Nearly everyone in the flock wants a shot at the big time. Could really be anyone by now.” He shrugged his shoulders to express his disinterest.

“Could _you_ be?”

The instinct was to laugh, yet the demon endured in his own silence as he watched his conjurer and mused. He had never joined in those petty squabbles over dominance; it wasn't anything he'd aspired for so he'd gladly left it to those willing to do the fighting and, ultimately, the ruling. But by that point he was in and out of the flock's territory, half of the time absent when he didn't care to be around his kin. No one really seemed to take notice, or _cared_ to begin with. They let him be as he'd let them. His casual disrespect for both community and hierarchy led to an existence of solitude and aimlessness, but it suited him. He did not want for anything. A position of power, therefore, was nothing he coveted. _Better_ that he'd come to the Earth to get away from all the hullabaloo for a little while.

The possibility that he'd ever become leader of anything amused him, and he humored the little sorcerer for a moment with a dry satirical note. “Me, huh? Yeah...even _I_ could be the next Griffon. Hell, maybe they decided to give the reins to _me_ as we speak. So you'd better watch it around me, kid, 'cause I could fry you _royally_.”

So mild a threat was taken with a little defiant smile. “I don't think they'd accept you, anyway. You complain about everything.”

“You _are_ a smart-mouthed little twerp!” the demon snapped back, irritated but not irate. For all the trouble the human was worth, he had not inspired the demon with an intense desire to electrocute him. That was new. And, if he was not mistaken, the insult appeared to _satisfy_ the boy. He'd not suffered a change in expression and looked down at his book. _Weird kid..._

“Let's try it now,” said the boy, and he looked back up with a neutral expression now worn. “I don't think we have a lot of time.”

“Hasty little bugger, aren't you?”

“Let's just _try_ ,” he insisted, a mite impatient as he'd opened his book and turned to the same page as before. “I know the incantation, we're both willing...”

Then, like a pop of electricity in his mind, the demon remembered one of the rite's provisions in particular which may very well upend the arrangement he'd agreed to. It made him snicker inwardly. “Just had a thought. An exchange of names, right? I don't mean to burst your bubble but _I_ don't have one. Guess that kinda spoils things.”

The child could not hope to stop himself from gasping. “What? How can that be?”

“It's not uncommon. Most of us don't have names and we don't need 'em. That's pretty much how it goes for us.” He and his kin all knew one another without ever calling a name. _Certain_ demons earned them; everyone else got right along without.

“We'll find you a name, then.”

“You don't even know if that counts!”

“If it's one you like, it will. Then you can forget all about it after I send you back.”

Sound logic. Now, it wasn't _likable_ , but it was sound, and the demon had already agreed to give the boy what he was barking for. He'd have to put up with a shit name, too. “Well,” reluctantly, “what the hell are you gonna name me?”

The aspiring sorcerer became silent as he thought. His eyes studied the demon's form, from head to toe, and it was clear his brain had been at work for the short spell of inactivity that fell upon them. His lips pursed inward, and the demon gave the thinking a try as well.

“Shit, I can't think in a hurry,” he complained at last.

“Maybe I can call you Whiny,” the boy dryly teased, and he brushed off the fiery retort that instantly countered. “Actually, I think...you ought to be Griffon.”

The demon could _not_ believe his ears.

“Are you fucking dumb?! I am _not_ sharing a name with that asshole! Weren't you paying attention to a damn thing I said?!” Shouting and contrary, always contrary… His hackles had raised, every feather on his body splayed and his wings stretched to half their length.

“You said you could be the next Griffon,” the child explained with calm, “and that he was the biggest one of your species—”

“And ended up roadkill!”

“But you _are_ a Griffon, aren't you? That's what I'd read about: a demon species like yours, and the text called them Griffons. If your dominant demon was called Griffon, why couldn't any other be?”

“Because that's idiotic! Fucking Mundus decided to forget the rest of us existed and call his golden boy Griffon because he couldn't be bothered to think of anything!” That may have been a slight exaggeration. Nevertheless, the demon gawked, stunned by the child's apparent brainlessness—one that threatened to match the former emperor's. What a crime that would have been!

The boy shrugged in answer. “I don't think of him when I name you. I think you'd be a much better Griffon than he was, anyway. You even said that he was...subservient? Well, _you_ have a strong will of your own. You'd do anything to be independent. I think you're smarter and stronger than he was.” He couldn't have known, but he at least appeared to understand the gist of what he'd been told about the fallen leader.

The points he'd made might have been simplistic, but they were proven by the way the conjured demon fiercely wanted _out_ of the child's company. So much, in fact, that he would even compromise a little of his freedom now to have it all back in the near future. The demon was certainly one of a kind and, in a number of ways, a better example of his species than the one who'd ruled them for centuries. He wasn't as much of an egomaniac as King Griffon, however, and did not quite consider himself in such glowing terms. Nevertheless, he was given something to think about although he'd not become quiet for it.

“Those are weak arguments, kid,” he criticized, “and as far as I can tell, you're clueless. Naming me Griffon is gonna be like naming a dog _Dog_. Like, 'Hey, Dog, let's go out for a fetch.' Is _your_ name Boy, by any chance?” He'd delivered the reference to going for a _walk_ incorrectly, but his point came across regardless. His disappointment could not have been clearer and he was defiant in demeanor; his complaints hadn't reached an end yet, either. “And here I thought you, with your smarts, would be creative too. At least come up with something original!” At this point he would have accepted Blue Bastard.

The child's brow furrowed in an expression of disappointment of his own. “I think it's fitting. You'd represent your species well.”

“I don't give a fuck about that!”

“It's just for the moment. _Please_.” Again the child spoke pleadingly. “You can abandon the name after I've released you. We only need it for the rite and that's all.”

In truth, the demon did not need to say a word. He was at the mercy of a child and could do little to change that for the time being. He would _have_ to indulge him in spite of his grievances. There was some small delay in reply, an obvious indication that he'd been in thought, but before long he spoke; reluctant in tone and discernibly critical, and yet he'd settled down—wings folded and feathers flattened. “ _Okay_ , whatever. The sooner we get this over with, the better.” _Pain in the ass._

He sat as he waited for the boy to go on with his preparations. As mentioned before, he'd known a thing or two about these rites—a variety of them, as a matter of fact. As much as the circumstances and their conditions were a bother, the demon had to endure in spite of them. And, in spite of them, he privately measured the boy's readiness and aptitude. Previously he'd acknowledged that the small human was _bright_ ; now, he supposed he'd find out if his appraisal had been premature. He thought it curious, too, that the subject on the boy's bloodline was never again touched upon—almost as if it hadn't been worth entertaining, or...perhaps it had been pushed to the very back of his mind for later. One way or the other, it was of no importance to the feathered demon. Neither of them uttered a word, the boy keeping his nose buried in his book as if he'd been reading with every ounce of his concentration. The demon could only figure that was a grimoire in his possession. What manner of evils had been written upon its pages he could only wonder, but its owner appeared too meek to wield so dark a power for equally dark purposes…

“Um,” the boy uttered softly, “I think I'm ready,” and he looked forward to lock eyes. “I don't need anything else… It's all in the incantation.”

“Then go for it, kid. Just don't fuck up!” The demon gave him his final permission and watched with intent, very anxiously awaiting an amateur's mistake that would bring about disaster for he who would be bound. The risk was not the conjurer's!

Still seated at opposite sides of the inverted pentagram, they faced one another with mutual agreement on their minds. The moment had come at last: the newly christened _Griffon's_ final minute of freedom. The conjurer's voice returned with strength and clarity as he read back the words on the pages in a tongue that was not English. A baffling thing at first, but soon the raptor identified the Latin he'd heard and he was struck with surprise. It was _damned_ _impressive_ to hear and he almost chided himself for esteeming the boy's skill and apparent proclivity. The thought was fleeting; any distraction may foil the entire rite as unified minds (and hearts) were necessary. The demon conjured need not recite anything themselves as it was entirely in the hands of the conjurer; it was the conjurer's will that brought them together and it would be the conjurer who established the binding bond. Such was the scenario in the enclosed bedroom where a teenage boy had employed all of his will to rob, even if temporarily, a demon of his independence.

In what sounded like a second sentence uttered, the boy lifted his arm and held it out to the demon before him; after it followed his eyes, tearing from the book to look into those that watched him back. Apart from the occasional glance at the text, he'd kept his eyes largely on the demon's; he appeared confident enough in his memory to speak the words that demanded the utmost attention to detail. The hand he'd offered opened as if to welcome the demon to it—and the fiend picked up his cue, stepping over the inverted pentagram to establish the closest proximity without yet touching between himself and the little sorcerer. A change in the air was unmistakably felt, something that no amount of words in any given language could ever hope to describe. The demon would not deny he'd felt real concern; this was all new to him and no matter how much he knew in theory, he would not have known what to expect in reality. To the very best of his ability, he tried to align his will with that which beckoned him. He recognized the section of the incantation the boy had moved on to—that is, he understood the Latin—and expected for the first time to learn his name. They'd arrived at the part that required both names to be shared (twice, even, in contrasting order) and thus his identity as Griffon was cemented. That of the boy, _Vitale_ , wasn't one he'd remembered hearing before but would hereafter have it etched onto his brain.

A pull was born from nothing tangible. Toward the boy the demon should go—that was the feeling that bubbled deeply within, an almost phantasmal force of attraction akin to two magnets of opposing polarities brought toward one another. Griffon would adhere to the child as much as the child would adhere to him, and this he knew would be effortlessly felt and inferred by the very strange youth who so desperately wanted a demon to call his own. Such a feeling swelled within Griffon as if he were only a vessel for the substance—a balloon filled to bursting with water—and just as the incantation had reached its close, the flames upon the candles danced wildly, glowed brightly, a noiseless power shot through human and demon alike and in a blink Griffon's body was reduced to the finest, blackest particles that darted uniformly through the air toward the boy, _his_ _master_.

The flames calmed and the room was once more awash in a downpour of silence save for the young sorcerer's gasp. He did not expect the demon to vanish and it spawned quite a feeling of alarm. Wide were the eyes as he glanced all around the room, but his memory urged him to examine his person. He had the sense to look under his shirt; suddenly his pallid, plain skin was decorated with flowing black patterns. He could see them despite the dim lighting; he'd found them concentrated beneath his clothing, on his chest and sprawling over his upper arms, and he was hesitant to touch them. Insecurely he called the demon's name; no response, so he called again, and it was after some short delay that the demon, in an instant puff of those soot-like particles, reappeared before the boy in a panic.

“What just happened?!” he demanded, throwing his sights on the boy in search of understanding. He was all alarm, wings partially extended. Nary a clue he had as to what just transpired, but a brief exchange of ideas led him to believe that it was a consequence of the binding rite. The boy who'd identified himself as Vitale described markings across his body that had thence disappeared upon the demon's return. Displeasure was born within Griffon from concluding that the patterns were representative of him; neither he nor the child now his master had any other guess for it, and they appeared in mutual agreement to not bother over the particulars of the supposed _tattoo_. It was singular at best and demeaning at worst for him. What's more, he'd had only the benefit of sight and hearing; his vantage point was from wherever he rested on the boy's body and nowhere beyond. The experience was a startling one to say the least, hence his manifestation. It was not the boy's calls that brought him out.

There was something more to the change. Faintly felt was a _tether,_ a metaphysical thing between himself and his conjurer. Next to impossible to describe, but nonetheless there when it hadn't been before. The demon was not at all certain nor could he quite craft words for it, so he resorted to one that even a toddler might make the most sense of: _connection_. By and large, what formed as a result of the binding rite was nothing less than that acutely named tether, the very thing that bound demon to human, the bond that birthed _familiar and master_. So it was at last completed, the final rite that the boy had so desperately sought. Now he'd had what he wanted, whereas the demon was less fortunate; he would have to hold steady until his time for renewed freedom arrived. It would not be too long, at least, and he thought himself hardy enough to endure through the duration of the deal made.

They spent the remainder of the hour exploring the nature of their bond. The demon watched his young master clear the room and they talked even through his hasty activity. At one point he mumbled complainingly, “Can't believe I'm gonna go around being _Griffon_...” as the name he'd been given was still distasteful—but it was his now, and (at least to his master) he would be known as nothing different. He had a smaller complaint for his master's name, claiming it was a “mouthful” and it was much to his surprise that the boy had rather insisted that he be called, plainly, V. Only V, always V, no matter in whose company—and while it was strange, unwarranted, and vulnerable to critique, Griffon had agreed to those conditions without debate. It was nothing he pried into but suspected the reasons would reveal themselves in time.

The night had not drawn to a close without its events reaching their climax. Wrathful was the witch when she returned home; she discovered demonic doings, the evidence in the air, and on those grounds tossed the boy along with an invisible Griffon out of her sanctuary and, further, her life. Just as predicted, the witch spurned V's presence. With naught but the shirt on his back, the book he'd cradled so protectively, and a demon at his side, he took to the wilds of the streets—and it was some surprise to Griffon after all, for he'd in some way not taken the child's worries as seriously as they may have been in reality. He'd plucked himself from his master's skin after they'd found a secluded little backstreet and had only to say, “Talk about your wicked witch of the west!”

He may have then expressed a mite of concern for his master's fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lightning rod: _one that serves to divert attack from another_.


End file.
